Chapter Twenty-Three #2
The years of restraint, of holding himself in check, snapped like twine. Ben flipped them, pressing Franco into the mattress, kissing him with something close to desperation. He wanted to devour him, mark him, but he also wanted to take his time, to make it last.
He pulled back enough to look at Franco. “You’re sure?” His voice was low with a ragged edge.
Franco’s answer was to dig his fingers into Ben’s hips, tugging hard, a growl of frustration escaping his throat. Glorious hardness met Ben’s equally solid cock. “Does that feel like hesitation?”
Ben chuckled, and leaned down to capture Franco’s mouth again, loving that everything had been peeled away from them, leaving nothing but heat and skin. Franco’s body under him was beautiful, lean muscle taut with need, his cock already leaking against his stomach.
Ben traced a line down Franco’s chest with his tongue, savouring the shiver it elicited, lapping up pre-cum that was slightly sweet.
He took Franco’s shaft deep with leisurely, steady suction.
Franco’s gasp hit him like electricity, his hips jerking before Ben pinned them down with firm hands.
He worked him with patience and skill, swallowing every sound Franco made, each one loosening something tight in Ben’s chest.
But he didn’t want this to end in his mouth, not tonight. He pulled back, licking his lips, and crawled up to kiss him again, letting Franco taste himself there.
Franco moaned into the kiss. “Want to feel your tongue on my hole.”
Ben caught his breath. “You read my mind.” He knelt up, grabbed Franco’s thighs, and pushed his knees toward his chest, revealing that tight pucker. He bent down and licked a bold path over it, loving the shivers that coursed through Franco. “Hold your legs for me,” he rasped.
Franco hooked his arms under his knees, and Ben spread his arse cheeks, burying his face in Franco’s crease, pushing the tip of his tongue insistently against Franco’s hole, feeling it loosen for him.
Franco’s eyes rolled back, and he let out a groan.
“Aw, fuck, that feels…” Another moan tumbled from his lips wh en Ben worked his tongue a little deeper, and it wasn’t long before Franco was writhing, breathless.
Ben didn’t want to wait a second longer.
He slicked himself with lube, and positioned himself, the head of his dick kissing Franco’s hole. He kissed Franco as he pushed inside, inch by inch, feeling him open around him, hot and perfect. Franco clutched at him, a hoarse cry filling the air, and Ben nearly lost control then and there.
He stilled, forcing himself to breathe, to give Franco time. “Talk to me,” he murmured.
“Move,” Franco whispered, his voice cracking. “I need you to move.”
Ben took a deep breath and set about making Franco come with long, deliberate thrusts, slow enough to make them both burn.
Franco arched against him, meeting every push, his fingers digging into Ben’s shoulders as if to anchor himself.
Their mouths collided, sloppy and hungry, until the rhythm built, faster now, harder.
Every thrust drove the truth deeper into Ben’s bones.
He’d lost his heart to Franco, irretrievably and completely.
“Look at me,” Ben murmured. Their gazes locked, and the world narrowed to nothing but the man under him, with Ben moving inside him as though they’d been made to fit each other.
Franco gasped his name, shuddering beneath him, and Ben followed with a guttural cry, spilling into the heat of him, collapsing against his chest as the world broke open and remade itself around them.
Franco hadn’t known he could feel this way with anyone. It wasn’t just the physical pleasure, though that was overwhelming in itself, but the sense of being seen, wanted, cherished even in the rawest, most vulnerable moments .
When Ben’s mouth had closed over him, Franco had lost it right there, the sight alone undoing him. But it was when Ben slid into him, slow and careful, that Franco understood this was more than sex.
This was Ben choosing him.
Ben kissed him, a tender brushing of lips on his neck, forehead, and mouth. “You didn’t come.”
“I was trying my damnedest to hold it back,” Franco confessed. He cupped Ben’s cheek. “I want to come inside you.”
Ben’s eyes widened, and that hitch in his breathing was delicious. He eased out of Franco. “How do you want me?”
“I want to see your face.”
Ben flopped onto his back, and Franco slicked up his fingers, his heart racing. He pushed two into Ben’s tight body, loving the moan of pleasure that spilled from Ben’s lips.
“Love the burn,” Ben admitted. When he pushed down, and Franco was knuckle-deep inside him, he knew Ben was ready.
Penetrating him was like sliding into warm silk.
Ben groaned, and Franco covered him with his body. “This is going to be over very fast,” he gasped.
“Then give me more. Harder. Deeper,” Ben begged, his voice broken.
Franco gave him everything he had. Every thrust set him aflame. His heart pounded like it might burst.
Pleasure built hard and fast, spiralling until Franco couldn’t hold it back. He came with a shout, Ben’s name spilling from his lips. And then he pressed his face into Ben’s neck as Ben let go with a raw, guttural sound Franco would carry with him forever.
They collapsed together, their chests heaving, sweat slicking their skin. Franco threaded his fingers through Ben’s hair, holding him close, unwilling to let the moment slip away.
“Don’t forget me,” he whispered, the words tumbling out, raw and vulnerable. He hadn’t wanted to say it, didn’t want to seem desperate, but the unspoken fear of being left behind, of being just another fleeting memory, wouldn’t leave him.
Ben’s grip tightened, and for a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their breaths mingling, the world outside suspended. Then in a voice low and trembling, Ben spoke:
“Never,” he breathed, his words an anchor in the still of the night. “You’re already in me, Franco. Every part of you.”
Franco’s chest tightened, the weight of Ben’s words sinking deep, a promise that settled somewhere deep inside him. No matter what came next, no matter where he went, he knew now this wasn’t merely a passing moment. This was something real. Something that could last.
He didn’t mention Florence, but the silence wasn’t avoidance—it was sanctuary. For tonight, there was no leaving, no countdown, only the two of them, skin to skin, hearts pressed close, Franco daring to believe this connection could survive whatever distance was coming.
He closed his eyes, letting the warmth of Ben’s body against his and the gentle rhythm of their breathing lull him into a place of peace he hadn’t felt in a long time. Yes, he’d be leaving, but at least he wouldn’t be leaving alone.
He’d carry Ben with him.
And as sleep began to pull him under, his fingers traced the curve of Ben’s shoulder, clinging to the words, to the promise.